


Seven Bloody Winters

by baby_novak_winchester_67



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Dark, Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fear, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Healing, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Memory Alteration, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Original Character-centric, POV Bucky Barnes, POV First Person, Partial Mind Control, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Red Room (Marvel), SHIELD, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Violence, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:42:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baby_novak_winchester_67/pseuds/baby_novak_winchester_67
Summary: Taken off the streets on a cold night and brought to a place that doesn't exist. Told that here she will be turned into a weapon, if she survives. Forced to forget everything she ever knew, maybe even herself. Pitted against people she thought were her friends. Finding new allies. And new enemies. And the soldier... a man with a mysterious past who might be more than meets the eye. Will she live? Will she forget herself and let them turn her into one of them? Or can something stronger save her and him both?*This story is very, very loosely based off, and inspired by the first book in the Divergent trilogy, specifically the Dauntless initiation progress and the dynamic between Tris and Four.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 10





	1. Blood in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year. A new story for all of you. I've been sitting on this for a while and wanted to post it when my current one was done but I couldn't wait any longer so here it is. I'll still do my very best to regularly update both, so if you're here from Winter Solstice don't worry, I'm not abandoning that one in favor of this one.  
> TRIGGER WARNING for violence, death, fear, and murder. This is a dark chapter. In fact the entire story is quite dark.  
> Anyway. Enjoy.

The cold wind cuts through me like a dozen knives. Shivering I pull my ratty blanket tighter around myself, throwing a proofing glance up at the dark, overcast sky and crossing my cold fingers beneath the holey wool, hoping that it doesn’t start raining.

My stomach growls loudly, distracting me from my worry of impending wetness from above. I curl one hand into a fist and press it into my lower abdomen to try to curb the angry gurgling noises. There will be no sustenance forthcoming today; I didn’t make enough panhandling on the street corner. I sigh softly as I look around the little dilapidated plaza where a bunch of us gather to spend the nights. At least until the police show up and threaten to arrest us if we don’t clear out. Then we’ll go and search for new semi sheltered places to hunker down at night. Until the cops find us. And the whole jolly cycle repeats again.

I know most of the people in the trash littered square with me tonight. We’ve all crossed paths at least once. Some of us have even formed tentative friendships born out of shared stories of misery and bad luck and the general trials and tribulations of homelessness. There’s five people in the square right now including me. As I squint through the murky darkness trying to determine who each individual is, a sixth figure comes hobbling in through the gap between the convenience store and the pawn shop. 

It’s Marvin, one of my long time buddies, I recognize his gait easily. He’s a WWII veteran with a bum leg and a crotchety demeanor, but he’s got a heart of pure gold. He proves this to me again as he limps past me without a single glance or greeting, but drops something warm and lumpy into my shivering lap. Upon closer inspection I discover it to be half of a freshly toasted ciabatta sandwich. He must have known I hadn’t eaten today. 

“Thanks, Marv.” I whisper into the night, getting back only a grumbly grunt from the stooped, slope-shouldered figure. I smile after him, watching as he settles across the square from me, next to Old Jeff who usually watches his stuff for him while he’s out foraging. Old Jeff gives me a three fingered wave with his right hand. The story of how he lost the two fingers on his right hand and the one on his left changes every time he tells it, but is always thrilling, and obviously fabricated, but hilarious nonetheless. I wiggle my fingers back at him. He’s such an incredibly cheerful guy. It’s honestly unbelievable for the fact that he’s homeless, severely undernourished, and people refuse to hire him because of the decades worth of track marks on his arm… and the missing fingers of course… But it seems that nothing can dampen his spirits.

Taking tiny nibbles of the still warm sandwich to make it last longer, I go back to my previous task of identifying the other people in the square. There’s Marv and Old Jeff across from me. Ladislav in the one corner, reading as always, using a zippo lighter so he can see. Nadia in the other, absently scratching her pooch’s head. And lying on his back in the middle of the square, mouth open, eyes closed, arms outstretched like he’s Jesus on the cross, is Paulo. How he’s not worried about the rain I have no idea but I heard him say once that he likes wide open spaces and cannot stand to be enclosed even in corners or against singular walls. He’s another World War Two vet, and I think it’s something about being in a POW camp for several years. But I don’t ask.

So here we are. Six homeless misfits all out on the streets for various reasons, sharing a space tonight, but probably not tomorrow. Who knows?

If there’s one thing you learn quickly out here on the streets it’s that nothing is certain and that your entire life can change in a heartbeat. A fact that I discovered a couple of times over the past year and a half, and that’s about to be proven to me yet again, but I don’t know that yet.

I’ve just closed my eyes when a sharp squealing of tires rips through the quiet night. My eyes fly open and I sit bolt upright, ready to run and leave all of my stuff behind. I expect police, shouting, yelling, chasing us off, waving Tasers and Billy-clubs. They do that sometimes. It’s meant to scare us off, but I don’t understand what purpose it serves. Sure it’ll get us to vacate the immediate area but it’s not going to magically get us off the streets… Usually they politely though sternly tell us to haul ass, and we do, finding another semi dry place to hunker down, but sometimes you get the self inflated assholes who just want to intimidate and hurt those they see as being below them. Protect and serve and all that jazz. But only the ones whose taxes pay your salary!

So that’s what I’m expecting. A group of two or three self important blowhards in khaki green uniforms waving Tasers around and blustering. But what I see instead is three shadows, men I think, dressed all in black with long handled things in their arms. Guns, I realize with a thrill of ice cold shock and fear when I see the light from the closed sign of the pawn shop glinting maliciously off the metal. Semi automatic rifles.

My entire body locks up. My mouth dries out and violent shivers wrack my body, even though I can no longer feel the cold which just seconds ago was so terribly biting as to prevent me from falling asleep. 

The others don’t seem to be suffering from the same paralysis as I am. They’re on their feet, some like Nadia with their hands in the air. Others like Paulo are swearing up a Puerto Rican Nor’easter, advancing on the three invaders with a raised fist. One of the Men in Black swings hard, like with a baseball bat and with a sickening crunch, Paulo drops to the ground. I realize with horror that the shadow just struck him across the face with the butt of his rifle. 

“Everyone, on the ground. On your knees!” One of the shadows shouts, as they all collectively wave their rifles around. Nadia’s dog is barking wildly, barely restrained by her grip on his leash.

I realize with blinding suddenness that all three of them are facing away from me, only pointing at the four still standing people. Apparently they didn’t see me in my dark corner. I swallow hard, self preservation kicking in. I can’t let myself think about the fact that I’m leaving behind these five people whom I consider my friends, sort of, just to save my own ass. I can’t think about that, no matter how horrible I feel. I need to get out of here!

I edge along the wall, feeling the rough stone scraping along my palms. I know there’s a darkened alleyway there somewhere. If I can just reach it I can duck down it and melt into the night and then I can run like hell and hopefully the ongoing shouting and screaming will cover my running footsteps. My groping hand finds empty air. The alley. Forcing myself to not immediately start sprinting I back into the narrow gap, treading lightly, every hair on my body standing on end, my stomach in more knots than a botched cat’s cradle game. 

The continued sounds of a commotion rage on behind me. More shouting and yelling, sounds of a scuffle then, clear as day, a shot rings out. A high pitched yelp. And then a scream. Nadia’s. Her dog! They just shot her dog! 

The hair on my body stands on end, cold sweat breaking out on my skin, chasing the goosebumps that race across it. My breathing speeds up. This is serious. We are in deep shit! I need to get out of here!

In the first second after my back hits something solid I think it’s a wall, that the alley is actually a dead end and I didn’t notice that earlier, but then I realize that the wall is moving; breathing. A cold circle presses against the back of my head and terrified heat floods my body. “Where are you going?” A low, gravelly voice speaks into my left ear.

I try to turn around to look at my assailant but the mouth of the gun’s barrel knocks into the back of my head twice and I assume that means that he wants me to keep facing front. I raise my trembling hands to about shoulder height to indicate that I’m not going to try anything stupid. My knees feel like jelly, and my insides are curdled like warm milk. I fear I’m going to throw up along the alley wall and I fear that if I do he’ll shoot me right there in disgust.

The butt of the gun whacks the back of my head again. “Move!” he, whoever _he_ is, orders. I stumble forward, expecting my shaky legs to give out at any second and send me sprawling. In which case he’d probably shoot me for being such a hassle.

I trip out of the little side street into what can only be described as a nightmare. Of the nine people, me included, who were in the square when I started my now botched escape attempt, only five are still on their feet. Three of them are the Men in Black, counting the one who caught me who’s still currently at my back, me, and Marvin, whose stooped figure is unmistakable even in the dark.

Of the other four two are on their knees, and the other two are on the ground. No one’s pointing guns at them, which makes my insides twist horribly in fear for what this means.

A terrified closer squint leads me to the conclusion that Nadia and Paulo are the ones still on their knees.

“What you doing to her, eh?” Paulo suddenly yells, gesturing wildly to Nadia, who’s just being roughly yanked to her feet by one of the men, away from the unmoving lump that I now realize is her dog. “You let her go! Take me instead!”

He’s ignored completely by the man wrestling with Nadia, who’s normally a pretty strong and stocky woman, but she is overwhelmed by the size and strength of this bear-like man.

She slaps him across the face.

He retaliates so hard her head flies to the side and she gives a choked off scream.

Paulo lurches to his feet, swearing, coming at the bear-man with raised fists.

He never makes it. Two more shots ring out, splitting the deafening silence, and Paulo drops to the ground, hands clawing at his chest for a moment, before they drop to either side of his body. Lifeless.

My screams of terror mix with Nadia's, though hers quickly fade as she’s dragged towards the van these monsters arrived in, the back doors of which are yawning open wide.

In seconds the bear-man returns, dragging one of the bodies on the ground, whom I recognize as Ladislav toward the van as well. Only then do I get a closer look at him and realize that I can’t see his face at all. He’s wearing a ski mask of some sort.

Another man, this one shorter than both the bear, and the dark one behind me, approaches from the side. He’s also wearing a ski mask. He looks down at the other body on the ground, whose fate I don’t yet know, kicks it once in the side, then calls out to Bear Man, “This one too! He may be missing a few fingers but he looks sturdy enough.”

Old Jeff. It’s gotta be. No one else fits that description. My eyes meet Marvin’s, seeing my own relief mirrored in his.

“This one though…” the short one approaches from behind, while Bear Man starts dragging Old Jeff’s body to the van too. The Short One gives Marvin’s shoulder a shove with the butt of a small hand gun he’s exchanged his larger rifle for, causing Marv's bum leg to buckle and making him stagger forward a step to keep upright. “He’s a cripple. Shoot him, Soldát.”

“No, don’t!” I cry out, launching myself in front of Marvin instinctively. The Short One rears back and pistol whips me across the face sending me careening down to the ground. Pain explodes through my whole head sizzling outwards from my cheek. I feel it but at the same time I don’t, there’s too much adrenaline coursing through me to allow me to focus too much on such an insignificant sensation as pain. I scramble back up to my feet, or at least I try to. The gun of the one who hit me is suddenly shoved in my face. 

“Stay down, bitch!” he snarls and I freeze. “You got bigger balls than I gave you credit for, you sniveling little cunt. But didn’t you see what we just did to your friend over there for doing the exact same thing? You might have balls but you ain’t got no brains in that pretty little head, do you?”

I shake and shiver, tears rising unbidden as I kneel in front of this guy, hands raised, eyes down, not wanting to stare at the gun that any second now is going to expel the bullet that kills me.

“Soldát?!” The angry shout from the man in front of me makes me jump violently.

“Yes, Commandant?” 

It’s him. The darkly dangerous spectre that caught me first. I can feel him stepping up behind me, his lethal presence electrifying my body with terror. And even though I’ve never actually laid eyes on him yet I can see exactly what he looks like in my mind's eye. Huge, bulky, menacing, dressed in black. Masked. Terrifying!

“Execute her.”

Cold heat rushes through me. My breathing becomes short and my ears ring. That same cold circle as before presses once again to the back of my head, only this time he pushes down bowing me over forward.

“She’d be useful, Commandant.” The dark and dangerous one says, voice even and uncaring. And even as he says it there’s the click of a bullet locking into place, destined for my occipital lobe.

“Wait!” the one in front of me, the one in charge, the one the spectre calls _Commandant_ orders. The gun stays on the back of my head but it’s not pushing down anymore. “Useful how?”

“Like you said, Commandant, she’s got courage. I’ve seen it twice now. You just saw it.”

“So? She’s a runt. She’d get squashed like a bug in the first week of training.”

“Maybe. But if she doesn’t; if she makes it through, she’d be a valuable asset. No one would suspect someone like her to have enhanced capabilities. Which could be very useful in covert operations.”

I have no idea what either one of these men is talking about but it seems to concern my life and so I find myself very much invested in the spectral man’s side of the debate.

“You make a valid point, Soldát. It would be the same principle that the Red Room Protocol is based off. Weak, little girls turned… well you know better than me what they turn them into, don’t you, Soldát?!” he laughs.

The spectre; _Soldát,_ only grunts and my panic soaked brain can’t determine right now if it was a negative or an affirmative noise.

“But on the other hand if she _doesn’t_ pan out… you know I hate wasting resources on weak links!”

“I’ll take her outside and shoot her myself if I’m wrong about her!” the one behind me says, voice hard and cold, the barrel of the gun digging into the back of my skull again.

“Well, you’ll be the one dealing with her most of the time anyway, so… fine. You win, Soldát. You can keep the little pixie. I’ll place bets ten to one on a good bottle of Smirnoff though, that she’ll be dead in a week! Either because you shoot her, or someone else steps on her!” This pronouncement is followed by a cold laugh that chills my very bones, then the dark leader in front of me turns around and walks away.

“Get up!” the spectral Soldát growls in my ear, lifting the gun away and grabbing a fistful of my jacket, dragging me to my feet.

“Oh, Soldát?” The leader is twenty paces away, about to climb into the passenger side of the black van’s cab, but has turned around to look back at us. 

The man holding me stands to attention.

“Shoot that one, still!”

“NO!”

_BANG! CRASH!_

Before I can do anything, before the horrified, protesting cry has even fully left my lips, the shot splits the air reverberating my eardrums. My head explodes in agony at the same time as Marvin’s explodes in a burst of blood, bone, and brain. 

“NO! NOOOOO!” I shriek, trying to throw myself down onto my knees beside Marvin’s body. His dead body! But I’m not allowed because the man already holding me redoubles his hold and pulls me away toward the van. 

“What is wrong with you?! Why did you do that? You didn’t have to do that!” I scream, twisting wildly in his arms, hitting out blindly at his solid body. 

“Stop it.” He grabs me hard by the chin, squeezing my cheeks inward. His hand is freezing cold and feels hard as stone. For the first time I get a look at his face and see that, while he top is wearing a mask, it’s only a half mask, covering everything from his nose downward. His eyes above the black material are blue as ice and just as cold, hard, and unyielding.

I try to shake my head but his hard grip doesn’t let me. “Shut up and stop fighting me. I don’t want to hurt you but I will if I have to.”

Tears run down my face over his fingers. He stares at me hard, his eyes in the night suddenly looking black as pitch. 

“Are you going to keep fighting me?”

All by themselves my eyes try to go back to Marvin’s body, but his fingers tighten and he shifts his body to the side blocking my view. He gives my chin a little shake. “Are you?”

I shake my head slightly, tears still dripping from my eyes, pooling in his palm. “Good. Get in the van.” He spins me around by my shoulders and shoves me toward the already rumbling vehicle. 

Scared out of my mind I do what he says and climb in. Three bodies are already inside, all unconscious, or dead, judging by their lack of motion. I hope they’re just knocked out because otherwise why would they take them along? Oh God! If these people are dead then I hope they don’t throw Marvin in here too.

Bile rises in my mouth at the thought, and before I can stop myself I lurch back toward the open door of the van, not to jump out of it, but to lean over the edge and expel the meager contents of my stomach onto the cobblestone square. The meager contents being that half sandwich that Marvin gave me not even an hour before. The thought of that only makes me more nauseous, and makes me heave harder.

When the vile flood finally stops I’m immediately yanked back into the van’s interior by my hair. I cry out, swatting at the hand that’s twisted cruelly in the strands. 

“Stop it.”

It’s the same gravelly voice as before. He lets me go as soon as I’m inside then leans out to slam the doors. Almost immediately the van is in motion, rumbling down the street to God only knows where.

“Where are we going?” I ask, voice shaky , as the dark, dangerous man steps over the people on the ground and settles his large body on a bench against one side of the van’s walls. 

“Don’t ask questions.” He orders gruffly.

I look toward the three prone figures spread out over the floor. “Are they dead?” my voice cracks atrociously at the thought.

“No. And I told you not to ask questions.”

I shrink back into the wall, then sink down to the floor, slowly inching backwards until I can curl up in a corner, as far away from the scary man as the cramped space allows. His eyes follow my progress but he makes no move to stop or retrieve me.

That last image I have of Marvin intrudes again, as well as all the other people who died in that square. My friends. Dead. Killed. _Murdered._

I press both palms flat over my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut.

Something hits my face. I flinch but there’s no pain, neither present nor apparently forthcoming. My eyes blink open to see a sharply creased, white, rectangle in my lap. A barf bag.

“If you’re going to be sick again, do it in that, not all over yourself. I’m not cleaning you up.” Gruffy McGruffypants orders, his voice holding dark, unspoken promises of things he might do instead.

I just squeeze my eyes shut again, crumpling up the barf bag in my lap, leaning my head back against the van’s wall, and try to focus only on the swaying and bumping motions of driving. Nothing else. If I think of anything else I’ll go insane.

And something tells me that I need to keep my wits about me where I’m going. Wherever that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Please, if you have time let me know what you think. I quite like what I've written so far but I'm kinda nervous about the violence and all that. I've never written it to that degree before.  
> Any comments are greatly appreciated and taken to heart.  
> Welcome to this new journey.  
> Have a donut to munch on for the ride: 🍩!


	2. Blood in the Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for more violence, mentions of violence and death, and general fear of death.   
> Enjoy

The drive seems both endless and timeless. I think it takes hours but simultaneously the van rumbles to a stop what feels like only minutes later.

I hear footsteps clomping closer, but keep my head down, hoping, childishly that whoever it is will go away.

“Get up.” It’s the same rumbling voice as before. Obviously. Who else should it be? No one’s come in or out of this van since we set off.

I shake my head obstinately.

An explosive sigh emanates from above, then a hand slaps down hard on my back and I’m yanked unceremoniously to my feet. Actually off my feet, because Mr. Not-So-Gentle-Touches over here probably underestimated how tiny and light I am and is now pulling me around like a ragdoll.

I’m about to complain, stupidly, about the less than careful treatment when I catch sight of his left hand. It’s made completely out of shiny, ridged, silver metal.

It moves just like a normal hand would. He has full autonomy of the artificial limb and the sight of it makes me flip the fuck out. I don’t really know why because he’s also got a hand gun at his side and one of those rifles slung across his back, but somehow that appendage that’s a literal _part of him_ just solidifies how dangerous and lethal he is, with or without the outside help of guns.

I scream and start to struggle, twisting madly in his hold, kicking, clawing, and punching out at him in a frenzy.

Even over the commotion I’m making I can clearly hear him giving a low growl, but all it does is make me fight harder.

His growling intensifies in volume. Before I can react to panic even further he’s spun me around and pushed me face first into the wall. Somewhat gently. At least he could have done it a lot harder. Or maybe I just didn’t feel it because there’s too much adrenaline coursing through my blood.

His hand tightens on the back of my neck. I’m still screaming but can’t really thrash around anymore. Not that that stops me from trying.

“Calm down.” He snarls directly into my ear. He’s right there, covered lips practically against my cheek. I can feel the heat coming off him, scorching. The rough material of his half mask thing rubs harshly against my cheek.

“No. Let go. Let go of me! Let go!”

“If you want to live you’ll stop before they open that door.” His metal hand points toward the van’s bay doors outside of which I can clearly hear movement and voices, even over my continued writhing and screaming.

I go limp. There’s no point in fighting. He’s right. He’s too strong. And I have no doubt that whoever is outside that door will kill me if I’m making such a fuss when they get in here. The Bear-Man. Or The Short One who hit me before. In fact, oddly enough, the only one who hasn’t hurt me yet is the man who stands behind me now. He’s actually protected me from being killed.

That’s not to say that he won’t kill me anyway still. He’s said as much. If I don’t prove to be “useful". And he’s clearly not afraid of killing. Marv’s death replays in my head again and I whimper.

“Quiet.” This time the low growled order is accompanied by another squeeze to the back of my neck.

The van door is ripped open. “They still out?” the voice of The Short One who ordered Marv’s execution asks. Scuffling sounds emanate from behind where I’m still being plastered to the wall by Dark and Dangerous. It sounds like The Short One and Bear Man are moving around, kicking the bodies of their other three victims.

“Alright, we’ll get these potato sacks loaded up. You take care of your little pixie stick, Soldàt.” Short One says.

The fingers on the back of my neck tighten again though this time I think it might be in annoyance at the other man’s mocking and disparaging tone.

I lock my lips tight to keep the whimper squeezing its way up my throat inside. One of my hands claws behind me, gripping onto the man holding me in a pleading way, begging him wordlessly to please not unconsciously snap my neck with his bare hand. My fingers close around what I think is his left forearm. It’s covered by his jacket, but even under the heavy fabric I can feel that his arm is hard and absolutely unyielding. Not muscle. Metal. Apparently the fake hand continues well past the wrist. How far up does it go?

His grip loosens ever so slightly, though I still feel like a puppy that he’s punishing, holding it by the scruff of its neck.

There’s more shuffling and grunting and then two pairs of heavy, weighed down footsteps clod toward the door.

“Put your hands on the wall.” He’s speaking to me again. It takes me a second to comprehend his words in my fear addled brain, and then another second to actually comply. When he starts squeezing my neck again, my hands immediately fly up to slap against the van’s inside wall on either side of my head.

“Don’t move.” He steps back away from me.

Inside I’m shaking, outside too a little bit, because I’m afraid that he’s about to frisk me, pat me down, and use it as an excuse to basically molest me and feel me up.

When my vision suddenly goes dark I scream. It takes me way too long to figure out that he’s just put a bag over my head. At first I think it’s a plastic trash bag and that he wants to suffocate me with it, but then the earthy smell hits me, as well as the rough texture of it agaisnt my cheeks and forehead. It’s burlap. He doesn’t want me dead. Just blind.

Which isn’t much better. The removal of one of my primary senses ratchets up my panic levels anew, not that they had ever really dropped in any significant way since the town square.

“What– no! Take that off!” my voice shakes and squeaks as my hands come automatically off the wall to claw at the sack.

Two large hands, one scorching hot, one freezing cold enclose my wrists almost as soon as I start to move and slam them back down with a dull clang.

I can feel his very large, very hostile body pocketing me in against the van’s side and try to get as far away from the threatening presence as I can by flattening myself against the wall, while still pulling desperately on my wrists.

His huffed exhale speaks of annoyance and I know instinctively that, once again, my constant struggling has made everything worse for me.

He yanks my hands off the wall and pins them both in the small of my back with one of his. I hear metallic clinking and next second something chinches tightly around first my left wrist, then my right.

He lets go. Panicked I try to bring my hands around but find that I can’t. Something cuts deeply into both my wrists, getting worse the more I struggle. Handcuffs! He’s handcuffed me!

“Nonononononono! Please, please no! Take them off take them off!” I beg brokenly.

“I’ll gag you too if you don’t stop crying.” He warns direly and I know he’s not bluffing. “Come on.”

His icy hand grips my bicep and he begins to tow me along beside him. Unable to see anything I dig in my heels, trying to slow us down so I can feel the path ahead of me with my feet. I don’t trust that he won’t let me run into anything, or trip, or fall face first out the still open van doors.

“Move!” he snarls, pulling hard on my arm, making me cry out as my shoulder joint pops uncomfortably in a way its not supposed to. I stumble after him, crying inside my burlap bag.

He wrenches me to a stop. I hear a muffled thump below, indicating that we’ve arrived at the doors of the van and he’s jumped out. Two hands grab me by the waist, but before I can automatically start to struggle again he’s lifted me out and set me back on my feet.

Once again he grabs my upper arm and hauls me after him. I stumble and against all my better instincts try to keep as close as I can to him, thinking that that way I’ll have less of a chance of tripping or running into things. That doesn’t stop me from tripping over my own feet though, and numerous times the only thing keeping me from face planting is his iron grip. He says exasperated words in a language I don’t understand every time it happens.

“Ramp.” He warns out of nowhere, and miraculously my brain understands, therefore saving me from tripping yet again, as the ground beneath my feet suddenly slants sharply upwards.

I stumble though when the ground evens out again and he gives no warning. Once more he catches me, my shoulder complaining as it gets pulled again.

I can tell right away that I’m inside again. I feel claustrophobic inside the burlap sack, more so than I did a few seconds ago. There’s a weird subdued buzzing, humming sound all around and I think the floor is vibrating lightly.

“Are we… is this a plane?” I ask, panic creeping into my voice once more, muffled only a bit by the fabric that covers my mouth.

“What did I say about questions?”

I clamp my lips shut again, shying away from him and the annoyance in his voice.

“Yes. It’s a plane.”

“Where’s it going?” The question pops out of me before I can hold it back.

His fingers dig punishingly into my bicep. “Why do you think you’ve got a bag over your head?”

Right. So I won’t see where it’s going. Or anything. This is bad! Really, really bad.

I start to shake again.

He pushes me forward further into the belly of the plane, letting go of my arm to do so. I try to walk slowly again, afraid of obstacles, but his constant shoves in my back make it hard.

He pulls me to a stop with a fistful of my coat. “Sit down.”

Immediately I obey, dropping onto my butt, turning my covered face up towards him, even though I can’t see a thing.

“Stay there.”

His footsteps recede. “Wait. What… what about the cuffs?” I call after him desperately. The metal bracelets are still digging uncomfortably into my skin, chafing and rubbing my wrists raw with every movement.

He doesn’t answer. I hear his footsteps recede further, followed by muffled voices. A loud thump beside me makes me jump and shriek. “What was that? What’s happening?” I cry, my head turning wildly side to side as if there might suddenly be a hole that magically appears in the bag over my head allowing me to see.

A sharp pain in my side makes me cry out, doubling over in pain. Someone just kicked me in the ribs as they walked by. “Shut the fuck up!” I recognize the voice of The Short One.

I cower away, tucking my knees into my chest, wishing I could wrap my arms around them, fold myself into a ball, tuck myself away, become as invisible as possible.

The sounds of movement continue all around me, never stopping until suddenly the vibrations coming through the floor intensify and the humming of the engines gets louder. Everything starts to move. The plane picks up speed.

I clench my teeth and fists at the same time. My fingernails are digging into my palms almost as much as the cuffs are into my wrists. I feel the panic starting to rise again, but I push it down. It’ll just get me hurt worse.

My stomach drops sickeningly as the plane takes off. Against my will tears start to flow again, dripping slowly down my face which is overheating in the stifling, suffocating bag. I try to calm my breathing, desperately, focusing on the sounds around me. But all I can hear now is the whine of the plane's engines as it climbs higher and higher into the sky, carrying me to an unknown fate, but one which, given everything I’ve seen so far of the people who’ve taken me, won’t be one I’ll like.

I start to hyperventilate inside my bag. My head tosses wildly, and I scrape whatever parts of my face I can reach against my shoulder, trying to dislodge the heavy, suffocating fabric. My breaths come in short choppy bursts, and I’m just starting to feel light headed when a hand closes on my shoulder.

I shriek and the fingers tighten in warning. They’re cold. Dark and Dangerous!

Warm fingers fold up the bottom of the bag covering my face and suddenly breathing is easier. Cool air hits my flaming skin, soothing both it and me. He doesn’t lift the fabric above my eyes, only bares my mouth.

“Don’t fucking take that off, Soldàt. I like hearing her wheeze and knowing she’s under there with no clue what we might do to her next!” I recognize the voice of The Short One, raised above the roar of the engines. A cruel laugh follows his words but it doesn’t come from the man apparently crouched in front of me.

I tremble at the threat behind what The Short One just insinuated. My lips silently form the word _please_ over and over again, but I can’t get it out. My mouth and throat are dried out from panic and all my screaming. All that comes out when I try to say it aloud is a hoarse croak.

Dark and Dangerous pushes something against my mouth. I squeal, immediately pressing my lips tight together, thinking of his earlier threat to gag me. I try to turn my head away from the intruding object but he follows the motion.

“It’s just water.” His voice I quieter and more gentle than I’ve heard it yet. It’s almost kind. Carefully, mistrustful still, I part my lips the tiniest bit. He tilts the thing, whatever it really is, and water does pour into my mouth. I drink thirstily and he doesn’t pull the bottle away, even though I half expect him to. Wouldn’t it be just like these people to pretend to let me quench my thirst only to deprive me again at the last second, when I’d just built up hope?!

When I can’t drink any more I pull back. He removes the bottle. “Done?”

I nod shyly, whispering, “thank you.”

He says nothing, just replaces the bag over my head.

I feel a little calmer for the moment. My heart’s still beating a crazy drum solo in my chest, and cold fear is still lighting up my bones, but I’m not freaking out anymore. At least not right now.

I use my feet to slowly push myself backwards across the floor until my back hits a wall. I lean against it, letting my head fall back and trying to control my breathing. I need to calm down. I _need_ to! Whatever is happening, and wherever I’m being taken to is not going to be good. I need to get my shit together and not be the tiny, weak girl that everyone expects me to be. Otherwise The Short One’s prediction will be all too correct: I’ll get stepped on in the first week.

The first week of _what_ though?

And why us? Why me?

The only reason I can think of for them taking a rag-tag bunch of street urchins like us is depressingly and terrifyingly obvious. No one will miss us… So no one will look for us. So no one will discover them, whoever they are.

And they mentioned not wanting people they saw as crippled or weak. Like Marvin…

My heart stutters brokenly when I think of him. He was so good. In a rough, standoffish way, but deep down at heart he was good, and kind, and a true friend. And they ignored all that and killed him because if some years old shrapnel in his leg! They are monsters!

I swear to myself right then and there that no matter where they take me, no matter what they do to me, I will not turn into one of them. I won’t become a monster who kills without second thought and orders executions for fun. I won’t I won’t I won’t! Not even if they torture me or kill me for not complying.

Oh God. What if they torture me? Or kill me?

Suddenly a low groaning pulls me out of my internalized helpless reverie. It must be the person they dumped next to me earlier. The groan sounded male so speaks to reason it would be Old Jeff or Ladislav. Provided I’m still traveling with my companions from the truck. Sounds like whoever it is, is waking up.

I keep listening, waiting, wondering if whoever this is will get knocked out again, or also get a bag over the head. Or maybe they already have one? Maybe the Men in Black used foresight?

“Whoa. What’s with the face covering on her?”

Apparently not. Seems like whoever's next to me has fully awakened, and has retained complete use of all their senses, including sight.

I hear him shuffling around, probably sitting up. “Why the bag?” he asks again. Presumably there’s someone else close by.

“To prevent her seeing where we were.” Dark and Dangerous answers from way closer than I’d have hoped, or am entirely comfortable with. I try to edge further away, but there’s a wall behind me and that unknown person still on my other side. I’m boxed in.

“I can see where we are though? Why not take it off?”

“Orders.”

That’s right. The Short One did give that order. My tears start up again as my fear, momentarily forgotten by the distracting conversation, also rises anew. I start to tremble again but try to lock my muscles to not let it show.

“Oh, and do you expect her to try and open the emergency doors and parachute out? Or what’s with the handcuffs?”

“She knows why they’re there.”

Because I fought him. Because I didn’t do what he said. My tears flow faster. My shoulders shake. I can’t breathe properly.

“At least loosen them, man. They’re way too tight. Look at her. She’s bleeding.” The other man sounds mad now.

There’s a long beat of silence. Then there’s the rustle of fabric and suddenly I’m yanked around by the neck of my coat, then pushed forward until my burlap covered forehead almost touches the ground.

I cry out in fear, struggling weakly, but then I feel the restraints around my wrists loosening. He doesn’t take them off, but they no longer cut into my skin. He pulls me back up to sitting by the back of my jacket again, then whips the bag off my head.

My hair stands on end in a static-y mane around my hot, red, sweat, tear and snot soaked face. I must look like a monster from the swamp, but I really couldn’t care less. I blink dully into the dim light, making out the bare, Styrofoam padded walls of what looks to be a cargo plane.

Turning around I look to _him._ Dark and Dangerous sits on a crate at one of the few small windows, staring fixedly at the night flying by outside. I want to thank him for loosening the cuffs and taking the bag off my head, but he’s not looking my way and I know by now how much he hates me talking, so I stay quiet.

Instead I look toward the person who argued on my behalf. It’s Ladislav. He sits, leaning against the wall next to me, eyes concerned when I meet them.

“You okay?”

I nod.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on around here? Where we are? Where we’re going?”

This time I shake my head.

“How long was I out for?”

“I’m not sure–“

“Quiet!” the shadow by the window growls.

I shrink down, squeezing my lips together, feeling fresh tears threatening. Ladislav was just talking, asking questions too and he wasn’t yelled at. But as soon as I say one little word he’s yelling at me. Why does he hate me so much in particular?

Ladislav wordlessly pats the floor next to him and I scoot closer, gratefully. The sound of my movement makes Dark and Dangerous glare my way. I lower my eyes and try to move more quietly.

His eyes bore into me for a few more seconds, then he turns back to the window.

“What’s his problem?” Ladislav whispers in my ear. “He needs to get that knot out of his panties, stat!”

I can’t help but smile at the imagery of that. “What color do you think they are?” I lean up to press my lips directly to his ear so Dark and Dangerous won’t be annoyed again by the sound of my voice that’s apparently so very grating to his poor ears.

Ladislav grins widely. “Pink. No doubt.” He whispers back. “With that much coal black on, he needs a splash of color somewhere. He’s gotta be compensating.”

“Hot pink or baby pink?”

“Hmm… baby pink. With hot pink polka dots. Or no, wait… hearts!”

“Lace?”

“Totally!”

“Thong?”

“G-string!”

“Matching bra?”

“Indubitably!”

“Are you done?” Dark and Dangerous rises to tower threateningly above us. Both Ladislav and I fall silent immediately, looking the long, looong way up at his shadowed face. Did he hear us? Or is he just asking if we’re done whispering?

Eventually I can’t stand this silent stare off any longer, since it’s so decidedly one sided in the intimidation department. I nod rapidly.

With startling swiftness and surprising grace for a man of his size he crouches down. His metal hand flashes out gripping my chin, just barely out of the realm of hurting-ness.

I squeak but freeze, having learned from past experiences that struggling only makes things worse.

His ice blue eyes narrow. “Don’t make me put that bag back over your head.”

He gives me just enough leeway to shake my head the tiniest bit, then he pushes me away strong enough that the back of my head bumps into the wall behind me.

Without sparing another glance at either me or Ladislav he rises and walks across the length of the plane to join The Short One who appears to be asleep, right behind the open pilot’s cabin. He’s taken off the black ski mask but his face is in shadow. The Bear Man’s taken his off too. He’s got a heavy brutish face. Large and square, but forgettable. Dark and Dangerous makes no move whatsoever to remove his half mask thing.

“Geeeez,” Ladislav whistles low and slow. “Multiple knots in those panties. Plus a run in his stocking. What did you do to him, Savannah?”

“Nothing!” I say shrilly and maybe a little bit too loudly. Immediately my gaze cuts to him, but he’s not looking our way. Thank God. Instead he’s staring at the wall beside him like it holds the secrets of the DaVinci code or something.

“I mean I probably annoyed him. But no more than any of you. I was _scared!”_ I whisper borderline hysterical. “Why does he hate me?”

“I think hate's his default setting.” Ladislav sighs leaning his head back and to the side to look at me. “You look absolutely wrecked and exhausted.”

I frown. He doesn’t look much better. There’s a blood encrusted wound on his temple, probably from where they hit him to knock him out earlier.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me. I’ve had worse.” He says, hitching a smile onto his face. It actually looks semi real. He pats his thigh. “Hunker down. Get comfy. Maybe you can grab some sleep. Something tells me you’ll need it when we arrive at our destination.”

I look unsure from his face to his leg which he’s just offered up as a pillow. “Go on. It’s fine. I’ll watch over you and make sure none of these asshats try to do anything while you’re sleeping.”

I swallow. That’s all well and good and I appreciate it but what’s to stop Ladislav himself from copping a feel? Not that I don’t trust him but… I don’t. I don’t know him. Not really. And if there’s anything my time on the streets had taught me it’s to be weary of strangers and ever vigilant.

He gives me a crooked smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything. I play for the other team, if ya know what I mean. You’re safe with me.”

I look up at him, deciding. Of course he could still be lying about being gay but I don’t think he is. I think I can trust him. And if I had to chose between trusting him, or any of the three men who kidnapped us… well, I know who I’d chose in a heartbeat!

I shuffle around awkwardly, trying to move with my hands still tied behind my back, which proves to be difficult. Ladislav helps me by supporting my shoulders, making sure I don’t crash entirely gracelessly onto the ground. Finally I’m lying curled up on my side, my head resting on his upper leg. He has one hand on my arm, rubbing up and down lightly, warming me. Or maybe comforting me.

“Thank you.” I mumble, even though it’s not nearly enough of an expression of my gratitude for somehow actually managing to make me feel even the teensiest bit better.

“No worries. Try to get some sleep. It’s all gonna look better when you wake up!”

Somehow I doubt it. But also obsessing is not going to help right now either. It’ll just make me freak out again. I might as well try to get a bit of rest while I can. Ladislav is right. Something tells me I’ll sorely need it when we touch down!

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!   
> Hope you liked.


	3. A Promise of Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for talks of violence and death.   
> Hope you like.

Gentle shaking on my shoulder wakes me. “Savannah. Wake up. We’re descending.

I blink blearily, unsure where I am, but realizing that I’m cold. I try to bring my hands up to rub the sleep from my eyes, but a sharp yanking pain stops me. Slowly the memories come trickling back: the square, the alley, the truck, the plane, Ladislav, _Marv!_

I sit bolt upright, immediately feeling my stomach dropping. No, that’s not my stomach. That’s everything around it. The plane. Descending. Shit. We’re landing. Landing in whatever place they’ve taken us to, to do what with us? Kill us? Torture us? Turn us into mind controlled robots to overthrow foreign governments?

Nah…

Ladislav taps my shoulder. “You okay?”

I nod, casting a quick look around for Dark and Dangerous, to see if I can talk or not. He’s nowhere to be seen. “How long was I asleep?”

“A while. I’m not sure. I nodded off myself for quite a bit there.”

“9 hours.”

I jump, turning so fast my neck cricks. Dark and Dangerous is right behind us, leaning against the wall, almost completely blending into the shadows. His arms are folded across his chest and his eyes glitter at me from the dark.

“Sorry…” I breathe without really thinking.

“What for?”

“You… seem to not like me talking…”

“I don’t like you asking questions.”

Oh. Right. “But why?”

Ladislav kicks me lightly, making me realize, way too late, that that I just asked him another question literally _right_ after he told me that he hates it when I do that. What’s inside my head again? Sawdust?!

He gives me a long, calculating look, probably trying to figure out if I was being a smartass. I look back at him with huge eyes, scared to look away, but honestly equally scared of the eye contact too. But it’s like once I’m trapped in his gaze I can’t look away.

He unfolds his arms and pushes off his perch on the wall. I shrink back, but he holds something up for me to see between two metal fingers. It takes me a few seconds to identify a handcuff key.

“Really?”

“That was another question.” But his voice sounds different when he says this. Lighter. Almost like he’s… smiling underneath that mask? At my obtuseness? I’m probably reading too much into this. He’s probably not even smiling. He just got a few hours of sleep too and now is less grouchy because he’s rested. Or something like that.

I lean forward at his prompting, feeling his fingers on my wrists. The cuffs fall away with a metallic clinking. My eyes follow the motion of him standing up until he’s once more towering over me. His own eyes are on mine, one eyebrow rising threateningly as he dangles the cuffs from a single finger for a prolonged moment, before pocketing them. A warning? To behave? Or to shut up in general? Or both? Probably both!

Only when he’s turned away do I dare to bring my hands out from behind my back, rubbing my sore wrists. They’re chafed, red and raw, scraped and bleeding in a few spots. Circulation returns to my numb arms making them tingle atrociously. They hurt. Bad. And they look even worse. Tears rise again, but I gulp them down.

Ladislav surprises me by taking my hands carefully in his and tilting them to get a better look at my abraded wrists. “Good thing he loosened the cuffs before. Would be a lot worse now if he hadn’t. Still looks sore though. They hurt?”

I shrug and lie. “Not too bad. And the only reason he loosened them in the first place was because you stood up for me. Thank you.”

“You would have done the same for me.”

Would I have? I don’t know. And that rankles me to admit. I’d like to think that I would have done the same or that I’d stand up for Ladislav, or just anyone in a similar situation. But I don’t know if I really would… Didn’t I just try to run earlier, leaving my friends behind?!

“Where do you think they’re taking us?” I ask Ladislav to distract myself from my own rather disturbing identity crisis.

He pulls his lower lip into his mouth, chewing on it thoughtfully. “I have an inkling.”

“What? Where?”

“Shhhh!” he shushes me with both hands, throwing furtive looks over his shoulders to check no one heard. But the three Men in Black are all busy. Dark and Dangerous is in the cockpit with the pilot, and The Short One and Bear Man are wrangling with the other two people on this plane. Looks like Nadia and Old Jeff are finally awake. And fighting.

I turn away. Nothing I can really do! And I hate myself for thinking it. Wasn’t I just debating myself about the merits of standing up for others. But Bear Man and The Short One scare me. Way more than Dark and Dangerous, I realize. Odd.

I focus my attention back on Ladislav. “Where do you think they’re taking us?” I whisper.

“Not where. I don’t know where exactly. More like who I think they are and where they’re taking us, as in the organization they belong to?”

“Organization? Like… _government_ organization?”

“More like anti government. HYDRA.”

“Isn’t that a mythical creature from Greece? The one where if you cut off one head it grows back two?”

“Exactly. That’s their motto: cut off one head, two more shall take its place!” he says in a deep, mocking monotone.

“So who are they?”

“Like I said, anti government, apparently. Bent on destabilizing world peace. They were big in World War Two. Officially called the Nazi Science Division, but it’s rumored that they were much more. _So_ much more in fact that some believe that _they_ weren’t part of the Nazi party, but that the Nazi party was actually just a part of HYDRA.”

I stare at him dumbly. My mouth is hanging open and I can practically feel the blood leeching out of my face. “You’re… you’re fucking with me, right?” There’s no way that an anti world peace organization _that_ big could exist today right under the noses of the UN. Right? _Right???_

Ladislav slowly shakes his head side to side. “Wish that I was.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Rumor mostly. But I’m a bit of a history buff too. Or at least I was. Before the booze made me lose interest in everything else. And before I ended up on the streets. That effectively put an end to my budding career as a history major. And they don’t let vagabonds into public libraries. Or at least they kick them out pretty quick.”

I give him a sympathetic look, latching onto the new subject to try and distract us both. “I knew you liked to read. You always had a book with you every time I saw you. But I didn’t know you majored in history?”

“Yep. Wanted to become a prof.”

I’m about to answer when the whole world begins to shake and bump. I cry out, grabbing for things to hold on to, thinking that surely the plane is crashing or disintegrating around us. Would that be so bad actually?! I soon realize though that the jolting was just us landing. Apparently on a runway made of gravel!

Ladislav leans towards me. “No matter what happens just keep your head down and do what they say. Stick close to the scary pink panties guy, he’ll protect you from the worst of it.”

I give him an incredulous look. Protect me? From the worst of it? So far he’s _been_ the worst of it.

Ladislav has no time to elaborate because at that moment the back of the plane opens extending to the ground in a ramp. Immediately we’re assaulted by freezing cold air. I start to shiver uncontrollably, teeth chattering.

The Short One peers out the doors. “Looks like we’re the last ones back. Good. I like making everybody wait for me. Makes me feel like I’m the most important person on this base. Oh wait. That’s right. I am!” he turns to grin at us all.

No one reacts, except Dark and Dangerous, whose eyes roll heavenwards above his mask. The Short One doesn’t see though, which is probably a good thing.

Our lack of reaction though seems to bug him. “All right, you lazy lumps of shit. Get up. Single file. Out you go. Follow Boris. And if I see anyone messing around I’ll get Soldàt to shoot you in the kneecaps. And later after you’ve suffered for a bit I’ll get him to shoot you in the head ‘cause we don’t have room here for sorry old cripples with bum legs, right pixie stix?!” he asks me, trying to clap me mockingly on the shoulder. I shy away, avoiding his hand, feeling hatred bubbling inside me like boiling soup at the obvious mention of Marv and his death.

“Oh, come on, why are you being so stiff?” he asks loudly, reaching out and catching me by the shoulder, pretending like he’s just wrapping his arm around me good naturedly, while actually digging his fingernails hard into my skin.

It hurts and I’m strung tight, wanting nothing more than him off me. But a small part of me realizes that he’s goading me, wanting me to react so he can hurt me. Plus I think he gets off on the humiliation of others in general.

“Commandant.”

The Short One turns. Dark and Dangerous stands behind him holding what looks to be a walkie-talkie. “Alpha group is calling for you. Some problem in Hangar 6.”

Short One swears in an unknown language. “Do I have to take care of everything around here?!” he shouts, making me cringe. But then he lets go of me and stomps away, still swearing and gesticulating wildly.

I can feel Dark and Dangerous' eyes on me so I lower my head. Feels like his gaze is burning the back of my neck as we all follow Boris the Bear down the ramp in single file, me and my scary shadow brining up the rear.

We exit the plane into what looks like an industrial hangar. It’s a lot of cold, bare concrete with various crates standing around. Dingy handrails and no windows. People dressed in all black move through the area. Each one has a gun strapped across their back or slung over their shoulder.

We keep marching like ducks in a row through another door which Boris the Bear opens with a code on a keypad. Thankfully there’s warmer air waiting to greet us in the hallway beyond. It smells stale and slightly musty, but at least it’s not freezing.

We keep walking through countless winding passages, each lit by eye hurtingly bright halogens, each looking exactly the same, with grey floors and walls, interspaced by the occasional heavy silver steel door on alternating sides. I wonder if the goal is to get us lost in here? Is this a sick maze game? Get everyone lost in this labyrinth and the first one to make it out is the one killed least slowly? And if anyone starves to death in here is that’s bonus points?

Finally we reach a door that Boris the Bear throws open. We file past him, each of us keeping our heads down, trying to avoid looking at him, or accidently brushing against him, which proves difficult because he’s just so enormous.

Inside I’m surprised to discover a group made up of people who look just like us. Disheveled. Tired. Afraid.

I do a quick, surreptitious head count. Eleven. That makes 15 in total with us 4. There’s also 11 men and only 4 women. Me, Nadia, one I can’t see anything off except a mane of wildly curly black hair, and one lady who looks like she could take Boris the Bear. Easily. Or like she could squash me with one hand.

The men look to be from all walks of life, all ages, and all sizes. Old Jeff seems to be the oldest. I’m by far the smallest, maybe even the youngest, though there’s one guy with hair as black as an oil slick who looks like he could be closer to my age.

I’m still sneakily analyzing the “competition" if that’s what they are, when a cold hand wraps around my upper arm pulling me none too gently toward these people and pushing me into an empty spot in the lineup. I blink at Dark and Dangerous' back as he walks away from delivering me to my assigned spot without any further ado. He strides a few paces away then spins around to face us.

My eyes widen. He’s taken off the mask. Beneath the icy blue eyes and the long brown hair is a hard, angular, and sharply handsome face. His jaw is square and set, his mouth a straight grim line.

He raises a clipboard. “When I come to you, tell me your name. First name only. From this moment on your last names no longer matter. Forget them.” He speaks curtly in a carrying voice that rings all across the room and that brooks no arguments and invites no questions.

A shiver passes down the line as he approaches the far end of it. One by one he makes his way to each person in turn, marking down the names they tell him. I wonder if they’re all being honest or if anyone is giving him a fake name? It would seem like the smart, self preservative thing to do, but on the other hand I shudder to think of the consequences if he were to find out. Which, technically how would he, but somehow I believe he could.

He’s two people down from me. I hear Nadia give her name, then Ladislav. Then he’s in front of me and the now familiar smell of gunpowder and metal reaches my nose. I hadn’t previously associated it with him, but now that I have I can’t get it out of my head or my nose. At the moment there’s few things that scare me more.

“Name?”

“Savannah.” I mumble so low that even I can barely hear myself, my voice choking out on the last syllable to where it sounds like I just said _Savann–._

He stares at me with those stone cold eyes. “Seven.” He marks something on his clipboard.

“No, not—”

“Name?” He’s already moved on to the next person.

I stand in that line up shivering until he’s moved all the way along the row and recorded everyone’s names. Once he’s done he nods and signals across the room, then steps aside.

Another man approaches, a smarmy smile hitched on his doughy face. He claps his hands once like a jovial principal or something. When he speaks his voice is buttery soft, sounding somehow fake like a snakes lilting hiss, and laced with an accent I think is Russian. “Great. Now that I’ve sorted out the non existent problem in in Hangar 6 and we are acquainted with you allow me to introduce myself. I am called Ivan. I am the Commandant here on this base. You may address me as Commandant.” I recognize his voice and stature as being The Short One's who’s also clearly removed his ski mask. Hatred for him bubbles up inside of me like lava and I swear to myself and to Marv's memory, that somehow, someday I will kill this bastard!

Unaware of my innermost desire for cold blooded murder The Short One; _Ivan,_ waves to Dark and Dangerous who takes a half step forward, apparently not at all keen to put himself in Ivan’s vicinity.

“This is Zimniy Soldát. He will be directly responsible for your training. You will answer to him, but he reports to me. You may call him Sir.”

But the way he says _sir_ with his accent makes it sound more like Sér, with the “r” rolling, and the “i” sounding more like a stretched out “e".

“That means Winter Soldier.” A voice suddenly murmurs in my ear. I jump. It’s Ladislav who’s sidled up next to me.

I throw him a questioning look.

“Zimniy Soldàt. Winter Soldier.”

Oh. I nod at Ladislav, wondering at the name.

“What do they call him in Summer, eh?” Ladislav voices my thoughts, elbowing me lightly.

“Hey!” The exclamation makes us both jump. The subject of our whispered discussion is striding towards us, hostility in every step. “What’s so interesting that you two are ignoring my instructions?”

“I was just translating for her.” Ladislav says with an easy, and appeasing smile that I can only describe as public service polite.

“She doesn’t speak English?” the man, the soldier of the cold season, _Sér,_ asks impatiently jabbing a metal finger in my direction.

I open my mouth to contest that and ask how the fuck he’d think that? He spoke to me (and yelled at me) several times over the past few hours, but Ladislav beats me to it. “She does. I was translating the russkiy parts to her. And we were wondering about your name, if it changes with the seasons, or if it’s maybe an homage to the eternal Russian winters?!” he grins.

My body goes cold. How can he be so flippant? Does this man not terrify him?

Before I can finish my frightened shiver, that very man has a gun in his hand and is pressing it right between Ladislav's eyes. “My title and its origin is of no concern to you, initiate.”

Ladislav visibly shrivels in fear, the cocky attitude draining out of him. He goes practically cross eyed, trying to keep the gun in view.

Sér holds it in place for a few endless seconds, each of which I spend strung tight in a terrified stupor just waiting for the explosion of the weapon’s detonation that takes Ladislav’s head off.

He withdraws the gun and takes a step back. “Anyone else who wants to sneer at my title?” he asks of the group, but his eyes are on me specifically.

Everyone around me shakes their head but I’m too frozen, trapped in that icy blue gaze. One of his dark eyebrows rises to a dangerous angle, and impossibly his eyes harden and cool even more.

Ladislav steps on my foot. “No.” I gasp out quickly before he decides to point the gun at my face.

He’s not done with me though; evidently I was too slow on the uptake. “No, what?”

I flounder for a few seconds before it dawns on me what he probably wants. Subservience. Submission. “No, Sér?” my voice is barely a peep, automatically putting the same accented twist to his title even though I didn’t actually mean to.

He glares at me for another endless moment, then nods. “You will address me as Sir. And you will not disrespect me!” his voice rings out loud and clear even as he strides away from us, holstering his gun once more. An action that has us all letting out a relieved breath.

“I will be your trainer. I will supervise your day to day activities, and evaluate you on your existing skill and your development during the next months.”

Training, skills, development, _what_? What are we doing here?

“The first lesson you will learn is to keep your mouths shut and not ask questions.” Again his eyes linger on me when he says this.

Ok, why is he always singling _me_ out? Barely five minutes ago he acted like we’d never even talked judging by the fact he apparently forgot that I speak English. Suddenly pissed, I stare back, clenching my jaw and curling my hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

He looks back at me evenly and for the barest minimum of a second I could swear I see one corner of his mouth twitching. Almost like he wants to smile at my stubbornness. Or my idiocy. Because I’m sure my defiance has only made me more of a target…

“This compound is now your home. You will not be allowed to leave without direct supervision until you have completed your training. There will be no contact with the outside world. For you it no longer exists. There are restrictions for where you are allowed to go. Rooms you are not allowed to enter have keypads on the doors outside. You may learn some of the codes as needed as you advance through your training.”

He’s speaking in a monotone, robotic way as if he’s learned these lines by heart so intently that he’s bored of them by now. We’re all hanging on to his every word, not because we’re so terribly interested, but more because we are afraid after what just happened with Ladislav. And because we’re trying to glean any information we can about our whereabouts and reason for being here. Or at least I am.

His speech continues. “While you are here you will be provided for. You will have a roof over your head, a bed to sleep in, food to eat. Your creature comforts will be taken care of. How comfortable you are here otherwise depends entirely on you. There will be hard work. There will be pain. You will get hurt. If you outlive your usefulness you will be killed.”

A few soft outcries ring out at this and another shiver passes down the line. He speaks of killing us so easily… if I hadn’t witnessed with my own two eyes just how easy it really is for him; killing, I might be more shocked at the pronouncement. As it is, all I am is terrified.

His stern, annoyed face quickly stifles the protesting, fearful, and questioning whispers. “Your training begins tomorrow. Right now I’ll take you down the hall to the dining hall. After that I will show you were you will sleep. I suggest you all strive to get as much of it as you can. You will be expected to wake up very early.”

More silence greets what appears to be the end of his lecture. He gives us all a long look, skimming each of us with his eyes as if deciding in his head which of us he thinks will be the ones to give him the most shit. Again his eyes linger on me for a second longer. I only catch it because I’m looking back at him, meeting his eyes directly unlike most of the people in line who’ve lowered their gazes to the ground, either respectfully or out of fear.

“Follow me.”

We startle, but then hasten after him, not wanting to piss him off.

True to his word he takes us to a dining hall. It’s loud inside with clinking silverware and lots of boisterous yelling. This atmosphere does not at all fit the one he just painted for us and I look around confused.

Most of the people in the room are men, I only spot a handful of women, but they too are laughing and talking loudly. Apparently carefree. Does that mean this place isn’t so bad after all? Was that entire spiel just a tactic to scare us into obedience so no one tries anything stupid before we realize that we’re actually not as poorly off as we’d thought? Or have all these people been brainwashed into being happy? Or are they all here voluntarily and therefor have no reason to be cowed and afraid?

Someone grabs my hand. I jump. It’s Ladislav. “We’ve been dismissed. Come on. I think I see an empty table.”

I nod mutely, letting him pull me across the room toward an empty table near the far wall. There’s some crumpled napkins and ketchup smears on it, but Ladislav carefully uses the dirty napkins to wipe away the red stains that, after last night, look horribly like blood to me, then drops them on the ground.

“Save our spot. I’ll grab you something.” He says cheerfully before hurrying off.

I sit down, looking after him. How can he be so bouncy? Isn’t he scared out of his mind? Confused? Angry at being kidnapped?

I look around. The rest of our merry troop only distinguishable because they’re the only ones who wear at least some colored clothing. Everyone else is in head to toe black.

A tray plops down next to me. I jump about a mile high.

“Sorry. Can I sit here?”

It’s the girl with the curly hair. She’s standing next to my chair, smiling at me quizzically.

I nod.

She immediately sinks down, folding her long legs under the table, shaking her hair back and offering me another smile.

What’s with everyone? Why are they all so flippin' happy?! Don’t they realize we’ve been abducted, and have basically just been promised pain? Not to mention the Damocles sword of _murder_ hanging over our heads should we become “useless”. The definition of useless in this case still to be determined as well. What if being useless here means not being able to run a mile, or lift more than 20 pounds. I’ll be dead before the next time dinner is served.

“You not eating?” she asks.

“My friend’s bringing me food. I’m saving our spots.”

“Cool. I’m Vega.”

I blink. That’s beyond a doubt one of the most awesome names I’ve ever heard.

She grins at me. “The brightest star in the sky!”

I give her a tentative smile in return. “I’m Savannah.”

“Thought it was Seven?”

“He just misunderstood my name.”

“Too bad. I kinda like Seven. Sounds like code.”

At this point Ladislav drops back in. He slides a tray across the table to me, falling into his chair, staring almost accusingly at my new friend. “Who’re you?”

“Vega.” She says simply.

Ladislav’s eyes narrow for a beat. Then, “okay.” He shrugs and starts to eat, taking enormous bites of one of the many sandwiches that are stacked on his tray. Vega also begins to eat with gusto, shoveling spaghetti into her mouth.

And I sit between them, looking from one to the other, still confused as to how they can act like everything is normal.

Ladislav catches my eye and seems to read my mind. “There’s food, Sav. More than we’ve had in a long time. And it’s free. _And_ we’re warm.”

Vega nods on my other side, pointing her fork at him in agreement.

I pick at my sandwich crust. I know I should be hungry too, but my stomach is in too many knots and I don’t think I’d be able to swallow. “But aren’t you worried about what Sér said? You know about killing us and hurting us?”

“Well sure. But nothing we can do about it now, until they tell us just what this training entails and we can formulate a plan as to how best not to be “useless" to them. And in any case being well fed is only going to help us with whatever they’ve got planned for us, don’t you think?!” he takes another big bite.

Vega jumps in. “You’ve never gone to a shelter, have you, Seven?”

I shake my head. This was only my first winter on the street, I haven’t felt forced by the cold to find one yet.

She and Ladislav nod knowingly at each other.

“What?”

“With a bit of imagination this doesn’t feel much different from a shelter.” Vega explains. “You get fed and a bed to yourself, if you’re lucky, but there’s always the threat of getting thrown out, or otherwise discriminated against because you’re black, or gay, or trans, or old, or young, or a woman, or a single mom, or a junkie, or just because sometimes. Because the people running the place feel like it and want to go on a power trip. Sure it’s not outright the threat of murder, but when it’s the middle of winter getting kicked out into the ice and snow could very well be your death sentence.”

I look back and forth between them, feeling great sadness at their lots and all they must have been through to now be able to look at our current situation with such minimal levels of trepidation.

“Plus I’m pretty sure they were exaggerating some to make us comply.” Ladislav says reaching across the table to pat my hand.

I look down. Has he already forgotten about Marv? Paulo? Getting that gun pointed at his own face? Or is he just trying to make me feel better, less afraid? Probably. So maybe I should stop being a paranoid sourpuss and get with the program. He’s right about one thing: worrying isn’t going to help any of us. And there’s food. So I guess he’s right about two things!

I nod at them both then finally pick up the sandwich on my plate taking a bite.

The door is thrown open wide, slamming off the concrete walls on either side. The entire room goes quiet. Ivan strides in like he’s King Shit. I half expect him to order everyone to stand up and bow or curtsey. He doesn’t though. Just imperiously ignores everyone, heading over to the food and piling it high, a huge grin on his face, presumably for the attention he’s just garnered.

Gradually people go back to their conversations though the atmosphere is a lot quieter and much more subdued than it was before he barged in. Vega and Ladislav also go back to their conversation. I can’t take my narrowed eyes off of Ivan, though. I’m fantasizing about stabbing him in the eye with the meat fork he’s using to spear one of the thin steak things. Or delving my hands into that greasy brown hair of his, slamming his face down onto the hotplate and holding it there ‘til the skin's melted off his bones!

At the same time I’m still scared absolutely shitless of him. There’s something just so… threatening about him. More threatening and scary than Sér even though he’s scary enough, and technically should be scarier just because of his size and metal arm. But something about Ivan just seems… deranged. Power-hungry to the point of insanity.

The sandwich has dried out in my mouth and when I swallow it, I choke and cough.

“Try this.”

I jump as a couple small plastic packets of mayo, like the kind you get for free at McDonald’s get tossed onto the table in front of me.

I turn around. Superfluous because I already recognized the gravelly voice. Sér.

He stands behind me, meeting my gaze evenly for several long seconds before he unceremoniously plunks himself down in the chair beside me. Both Vega and Ladislav are staring with open mouths. I’m sure I am too, but I’m a bit too dumbfounded by his sudden presence to be fully able to tell my facial expressions right now.

He says nothing about our probably stupid looking visages, and just nudges the mayo packets closer to me. “Makes it less dry.” He says in an ironically dry voice pointing his metal finger at my bitten and abandoned sandwich.

Methodically I reach for one. “Thanks.” I’m still staring at him, half scared to let him out of my sight, half insanely curious as to why he would chose to sit here of all places. Thought he was supposed to hate me?!

I take a smaller bite of my now mayo-fied sandwich and yes, he was right. It tastes better now.

“So what’s Ivan’s deal?” I ask, probably a bit too loud, judging by the way Vega and Ladislav flinch, and Sér’s eyes narrow.

I lower my voice. “I mean why’s he walking around like he owns the place? He says he’s the leader. Leader of what?”

“More questions, Seven?” Sér says darkly, but when I look at him his mouth does the weird twitchy thing again.

I shrug, taking another bite of my sandwich. “Sue me!”

Ladislav kicks me under the table. But my verbal filter has well and truly left me, as is usually the case when I’m nervous and stressed. And I don’t think I’ve ever been more nervous and stressed than I am right now. So it’s bye bye common sense!

Sér has turned his big body in his chair and angled it forward towards me. His eyes are intense as they bore into mine. Every instinct I have screams at me to look down, to lower my eyes. Respectful. Docile. Submissive. But I don’t. Part of me physically can’t; is trapped in the glaciers of his pupils. The other half refuses to. I’ve already let him metaphorically walk all over me. No more!

I don’t know where this bravery is coming from, especially in the face of his frosty glare. But it’s like a spark that suddenly ignites in my chest and refuses to go out. Apparently I’m already expected to not survive the first week here judging by what Ivan said back in the square. And apparently Sér thinks I could be useful. So right now I’m counting on his pride to keep him from killing me if only to prove a point to Ivan.

At least I hope I can count on his pride.

A metal thumb and forefinger pinch my chin. He rises to his feet taking a half step closer and tilting my face up to keep my eyes on his. “Careful, Seven…” he breathes so softly that I technically shouldn’t have heard him over the renewed din that fills the room. But I did hear him. Clear as day.

My breath hitches in my chest but I don’t move my eyes from his, and I don’t blink.

His mouth twitches again, then his fingers are gone and before I can gather myself he’s already several strides away, navigating the crowded room with ease.

I sag against the table, my fingers automatically going to the spot where his just were. The skin there feels cold to the touch, but burns hot underneath.

Vega jabs me in the ribs with her elbow. “I’m developing a theory…”

I straighten up, pretending to shake off the interaction. “And what’s that?”

“That you’re suicidal.”

“Or a masochist.” Ladislav chimes in.

“You’re the one who told me to stick close to him earlier.”

“Stick close to him. Not poke him with a stick.”

“Why'd you say he’d protect me anyway? So far he’s the one who’s been kicking me around like a beanbag.”

“First of all he didn’t point a gun at your head. Second, you didn’t see him when you were sleeping.” Ladislav says simply, picking up his umpteenth sandwich.

“What was he doing while I was sleeping? Taking notes on what to yell at me for next?”

“No.” Ladislav swallows his bite and points his crust at me all knowingly while Vega's head swivels back and forth between us. “He was watching you. Not in a creepy way, but like he would have thrown me out the plane if I’d tried something on you. At one point the other guy stood up, rubbing his hands, his eyes directly on you and I thought I was about to die defending you from the slimy giant. But Full Metal Badass just stood up and got in his way. He didn’t say a word. Just stood there. And big guy backed down. No ifs ands or buts. Just sat back down. Looked grumpy as hell about it. But point is he saved your butt. ‘Cause I know Boris would have done something to you and I wouldn’t have been able to stop him. And it wouldn’t have been any skin off _Sir's_ back if he’d just let the guy. But he didn’t.”

I sit there blinking at my plate and two squeezed empty mayo packets. If that’s true; and why wouldn’t it be, then I’m even more confused. Why would he protect me when I’m not looking, but spend the rest of his time yelling at me and threatening me when I am? Was he only protecting his pride in regards to me and what Ivan said about me, like I tried to use against him earlier? Or… what?

“Oh, and he also got yelled at by Ivan for taking the bag off your head apparently against orders.” Ladislav adds.

He did do that. I heard Ivan give the order to keep that bag on my head. But he took it off. Eventually. Without Ivan giving him the okay. So against orders. Why? And, I suddenly remember, earlier when Ivan had his hands on me when we were exiting the plane Sér got him off me by mentioning some kind of problem in Hangar 6. And later Ivan said that there was no problem in Hangar 6. So did Sér say that to distract him and get him away from me? Or was there some other mistake involved?

My brain rebels. Nothing makes sense. I want to confront him, to ask him what the hell, but given how he doesn’t like questions I don’t think that would go over very well. So what do I do? I guess I just stick it out. Watch carefully, and don’t let myself be cowed by him. And… and whatever it is they do here I’m gonna fucking excel. I’m not gonna give Ivan reason to have me killed. It might be that Sér is questionably protecting me for his pride, but it’s for my _life_. And maybe I can beat all these asshats here at their own game! Whatever that is.

I look up at Ladislav and Vega with a fierce smile. They both look concerned at first by my prolonged introverted silence but when they see my face identical smiles stretch across theirs. I nod at them. “I’m in. I’m in with whatever mindset you guys have about not worrying and making the best of whatever this situation is going to be.”

“Hell yeah!” Ladislav says toasting me with his last sandwich.

Vega raises her fork like a sword. “Let’s kick ass. Be it metal or not!”

I catch Ladislav’s eye. “We need to tell you about our pink panty theory!”

And so the three of us settle down into this strange, new friendship, in a place where we don’t know if anything will survive to see the morning. Not our friendship. Not even us…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'll point out again, as I will many more times that parts of this story are very loosely based off of Divergent by Veronica Roth. So if you recognize certain scenes, or moments, or patches of dialog then that's what they were inspired by, though I'll keep pointing them out so that I'm not taking credit for someone else's work. Like Vega's line in the cafeteria, and the title of initiates for the people being trained. Stole or borrowed those from Divergent. The story obviously won't be the same, but I took a lot of inspiration from the book and the movie and sometimes it'll show a bit more than others. Mostly I can say though what inspired me was the dynamic and relationship between four and tris. Also I got the idea for my OCs name from Four. And it made sense. Savannah=Seven. It'll have a bit more significance later...  
> So yea.  
> Hope you liked that.  
> Thank you for reading!


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